27 Truths: Ava's story (The Truth About Love Book 1) (5 page)

I bite down on his shoulder, and my back hits the wall as he fucks me harder, faster, and without restraint or apology.

We come together, and to me, it’s a sign that the universe has finally aligned. This is our time. His and mine, mine and his. And I know the minute I tell him I love him, everything will be as it should.

When my legs stop trembling, I unhook my ankles from behind him, and he pulls out of me.

“Need a couple minutes,” he says, avoiding eye contact as he walks to the bed.

His ass is magnificent: hard, tight, muscular.

I watch as he kicks off his pants and sits at the end of the bed then sighs before looking at me. “You need to clean up?”

“Oh.” I nod. “Yeah, I should.”

I walk quickly into the bathroom and take care of our … love?

Wow, that’s a first. How does one broach that subject? Do I even need to? He wouldn’t put me in harm’s way any more than I would him. I’m sure it’s fine.

After cleaning up, I grab a towel and walk out of the bathroom toward the bed.

He’s lying on his back with one hand behind his head, the other over his eyes. His lower body is uncovered, giving a sinful view.

I slide in next to him, not touching him. He makes the first move, always.

“Give me ten,” he states.

I lie back, look at the ceiling, and start counting to six hundred.

***

I wake to thrashing, undistinguishable curses, and low pain packed with sorrow-filled noises that sound almost like a cry.

I sit up quickly, realizing where I am and the noises are coming from Luke.

I grab for his hand to try to wake him, but as soon as I touch him, I am flying backward off the bed.

“I’ll kill you!”

I jump up and see him jump off the bed.

I run to the doorway yet remember I’m naked and my clothes are near him. Therefore, I run into the bathroom and shut the door, locking it behind me.

I am not afraid of Luke, but I have read enough on PTSD to know the man who threw me from the bed was not Luke, not my Luke. This Luke is fucking frightening.

“Ava! Open the fucking door,” he says in an angry yet regretful tone.

“You okay?” I ask through the door.

“Ava,” he sighs.

Now that’s Luke. My Luke.

I open the door and smile. “Bad dream?”

The way he looks at me makes me wish I hadn’t opened the door. I think it’s disgust, disdain. Regardless, it’s not happy. Not happy at all.

“Am
I
okay?” he half-laughs, half-snaps as he reaches up and touches the corner of my eye.

Ouch
, I think.

He walks past me and turns on the faucet. “Ten minutes, Ava, ten. Not”—he pauses and looks at his watch—“two hours. Two hours, dammit!”

Before I have time to say anything, he holds a cold washcloth against the corner of my eye.

“Fuck!”

I hold my hand over his. “You had a bad dream. You didn’t mean it. That’s why they call it an accident.”

“Don’t. Don’t make fucking excuses for me.”

“Luke, you’ve been in war zones for—”

“Don’t do that, either. Don’t pretend to know what the fuck goes on over there.”

I feel like I’m making everything worse, so much worse. But dammit, I know he didn’t mean it. And I sure as hell know I will not let the man who has put his life at risk for this country, the man I love, think that he is alone. I am with him.

“I won’t pretend to know, Luke, but you need to know I am so proud of you for all that you do.”

“Don’t, Ava. I know how you all feel about my decision to reenlist.”

“
You all
?” I ask, shaking my head. “I see you, and I see me. And you’ve known me since birth, so you know there is no way in hell I can stop myself from saying what’s on my mind, and on my mind is me being proud of you.”

“Ava …” He shakes his head.

I hold my finger up to his lips. “I’m not done.”

His eyebrows shoot straight up.

“It was a damn accident.”

He sighs.

“Two hours, though?” I give him the uh-oh look.

“Right, we need to go.” He looks at me like he wants to say something yet doesn’t.

When he turns, I grab his hand. “We’re okay, right?”

He stiffens and turns back. “Meaning?”

“No protection,” I whisper as if someone may hear me.

“I don’t know, are we?” He acts annoyed.

“Clean on my end.” I grin like a stupid kid and immediately regret it when he rolls his eyes slightly, almost causing me to lose my courage.

Almost.

“Luke, I need to tell you something else.”

“We need to get dressed and go,” he says, yanking my hand and pulling me behind him. “Does your brother stay at the gym for two hours?”

“Depends on what kind of ass is there.” I laugh.

He looks back at me. Again, it’s like he has something to say yet doesn’t.

So I do.

“Speaking of ass, yours is rock hard, Luke. I really love your ass.” I use the word love to test the waters.

He nods and drops my hand as he grabs his clothes.

“I think you should have my name tattooed on it.”

He whips his head around and huffs, “Yeah, right.”

Ouch.

I’m not a quitter, so I continue, “You have the flag over your heart, so that part’s taken. So, I figured—”

“Damn right it is,” he agrees. “My one true love is my country.”

Double ouch, but Daddy didn’t raise a quitter.

I position myself in front of him, use both hands to grab his face, and look him right in the eyes. “The flag is a beautiful thing, but that chest, that heart, I think they’re big enough that you could probably love someone else, too.”

“Don’t have time for round two, Ava.” He gently grabs my wrists, but I hold tight.

“I’m done with school. I’m a grown woman, and you are definitely a grown man, Luke Lane. We’ve been playing this game for seven years in hiding, and I would rather play it out in the open—”

“Ava.” His tone is one that begs caution.

“I love you, Luke. Always have, always will,” I say with a smile. “I know you feel—”

“That’s fucking it up!” He pulls my hands free of his face and steps back. “You all think you know me, but you don’t. You don’t know the real me. Not one of you.”

“I know everything I need to know in order to stand here, bare, looking at you just the same, and saying it a second time. I. Love. You.”

“No, Ava!” My name isn’t said with need wrapped in sinful intent like he normally says it. My name is cold and sounds loathed.

At this moment, I hate the name my parents gave me.

“You don’t know me. None of you do. The whole bunch of you think this little pissant town means everything when, in reality, it isn’t shit. Nice place to visit, but there’s no fucking way I’d make a home here.”

And then the final blow…

“The world doesn’t begin here, nor does it end here. And I hate like hell to say it, but the same goes for being between your legs.”

Silence. Deadly, ugly, excruciating silence.

***

When he pulls into my driveway, he finally looks at me, “I thought things would be cool with you and me. I thought you were grown enough to separate physical and emotional feelings, Ava. Guess I was wrong.” He sticks his hand out to fucking shake mine, “Life lesson, kid.”

I don’t shake his hand. Mine are shaking so badly I couldn’t if I tried.

When I can’t get my seatbelt unfastened because of the shaking, I could swear I see hurt in his eyes. When he tries to help me, I manage to bat his hand away without crying. Again, I think I see some sort of emotion, but I know that’s a lie.

In fact, everything I thought I felt, everything I told myself about mine and Luke Lane’s … fated love, everything I believed with all my heart, all my soul—it was all a big fat lie.

How stupid am I? How pathetic am I? How childish am I?

When I finally get my seat belt unfastened and jump out of his truck, I turn and open my mouth because I am Ava fucking Links, and I may be stupid, naive … both, but there is one thing for certain: I damn well don’t let people get the best of me.

What comes out? Not what I expected.

His name breaks my voice. The embarrassment of that breaks the dam holding back the flood of emotions I have been fighting to keep bottled up. Then, by some miracle, my legs regain feeling, and I turn and bolt like a child runs from a snake or an angry dog in fear.

As soon as I am inside the safety of my childhood home, a sound escapes me that is so full of emotion and pain that I can’t believe it comes from me. I run up the stairs to my bedroom and dive onto my bed. However, I can still feel him, smell him, and I want it all gone.

I jump up and run to the bathroom then start the water. I strip bare and get in the tiled double shower. Then I stand under the scalding hot water and cry. I cry like I never have before.

I cry for my broken heart; I cry for seven years of dreams now shattered; and I cry because the man I love is so messed up he can’t even see what I know is there. Then I cry because, down deep in my soul—past the hurt, past the pain, past the embarrassment, and past the shattered dreams I harbored for years—is a rock solid foundation, and it is built of hope.

As I scrub between my legs almost to the point of pain, I curse hope. I curse it inside my head, and I curse it out loud. I curse it because it curses me.

After my shower, I lie in my bed, playing over the last hour of my life. The literal nightmare and the figurative one. One is devastating to watch, the other devastating to live.

Exhausted, I close my eyes and pray that, when I wake up, this will all have been a nightmare.

I feel a hand on my forehead, and I have to force my eyes open. They burn so badly.

“Baby girl, it’s Christmas Eve. You’re still in bed, and it’s almost noon. You feeling okay?” Dad sits on the bed beside me.

“Just tired, I guess.” My throat is raw, and it sounds scratchy.

“Ava, you sound like …” He pauses. “Well, not like you.” He narrows his eyes at me. “Do you have a black eye?”

“I hit the corner of my eye on the bed when I got up earlier,” I lie. “And I feel … not like me.”

“Gotta be more careful.” He leans over and kisses the corner of my eye. “Okay, then sleep. I’ll get you some soup and send an email to Santa asking him to make sure he gets you something extra special.”

I nod and close my eyes. “Thanks, Daddy.”

***

When I wake an hour later, he is sitting in the chair next to my bed with a thermos. “Got soup.”

I force a smile, and then I force myself to sit up.

He hands me the thermos. “Tessa said the broth should help. She also hopes you can make it tonight. Everyone will be there.”

Everyone.

“Maybe I should stay home. I mean, then I should feel better tomorrow.”

Dad nods. “I’ll stay here with you. Logan, you, and I can—”

“No. Absolutely not. I’m not ruining your Christmas Eve.”

“Wouldn’t be ruining it, Ava.”

Tessa’s husband was shot and killed on Christmas Eve; there is no way in hell I’m going to let him stay here with me on an “anniversary” of such magnitude. It would kill him to be away from her, and I know it. I also respect it very much. He loves her and wants to be there for her, but he also wants to be here for me. Little does he know my illness is actually heart sickness.

I get up and open the thermos, drinking some of the broth as he watches me.

“Give me half an hour,” I tell him.

***

I stand in the bathroom, looking at myself in the mirror. I look like hell—absolute hell—and I am going to see him tonight. I’m going to have to be in the same damn house with the man who broke my heart and shattered my dreams.

When I walk down the stairs in my red dress lined with white fur that hits just above my knees, Dad shakes his head. “You look beautiful, Ava.”

The love in his voice, in his words, and the way he looks at me are exactly what I need right now. Still, the pain from Luke’s rejection is so raw tears immediately begin to fall.

“Ava?” He walks quickly toward me, and I lunge into his arms. “Oh, baby girl, maybe you shouldn’t go.”

“No, I’m fine. I … I just missed you. I love you, Dad.” I hug him more tightly. “So much.”

“I know, Ava. I know, sweetheart.”

I step back and wipe my tears. “I’m ready now.”

He looks at me expressionlessly and nods once. “Okay.”

Dad insists I ride with him due to my
sickness
, and I agree to keep up the charade.

The entire ride to his and Tessa’s house is quiet, and he keeps looking at me out of the corner of his eyes like I’m some ticking time bomb.

Little does he know that the bomb has already gone off. Inside, I am dying, but on the outside, I am still trying to hold it together.

God, I pray I can hold it together.

As soon as we pull in, I spot Luke’s white Chevy pick-up. A wave of nausea hits my stomach, and I press against it in hopes of easing the pain.

Dad stops and gets out quickly, walking around the front of the vehicle and opening the door before I am able to.

“You sure about this?” he asks.

I nod.

“Ava, if you feel that badly, we can go back to the house,” he says, looking at me curiously.

“Just stay close, okay?”

After I say it, I wish I hadn’t. It just slipped out.

“Baby girl, we’ll all stay close.”

I force a smile and give a nod as I take his hand, and he helps me out.

I reach back into the vehicle to grab my purse and realize I forgot it.

Shit.

“Everything okay?” Dad asks, giving my hand a squeeze.

“Just forgot my bag.” I shrug, and he closes the door.

When we walk into the house, Tessa and Harper both greet me and feel my head.

I smile brightly and give a chuckle. “And to think, I’m feeling jet-lagged from an hour flight. I’m fine, really.”

Dad eyes me suspiciously, and I notice Tessa watching him.

All eyes are on me again.